📖☕️ P’osies Cafe Series: Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee pt 1

Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.

Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee pt 1

Written by Tannika Nikeya

An hour after the sun rose to announce the morning, “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles serenaded the small café on the corner of a quiet street. As the song played, the sun smiled on the café, beaming its light through the big front window with its sign: P’osies Café.

It wasn’t a major coffee spot, but it was a quaint and cozy “mom and pop” shop in the neighborhood—a true staple.

Warm colors, potted Pothos and Fiddle Leaf Fig plants, and dim lantern-style light fixtures hung over some of the tables. Unique abstract artwork adorned the walls. The wood tables and chairs added to the cozy charm, complemented by faux fur throw pillows in autumn hues of yellow, orange, and red.

One by one, customers walked into the café, the door chimes eagerly announcing each entrance. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. A new spice—pumpkin—hinted at the arrival of a new season.

Some customers came in with smiles and cheerful greetings; others offered polite nods, still adjusting to the morning and mentally preparing for the day ahead.

As each customer entered, the daytime crew greeted them with warm smiles and hearty good mornings. Some even had custom greetings for their favorite regulars. But when Mr. Daniels walked through the door with a slight limp and a soft nod—just as he did every morning at 7:45 a.m. sharp—the entire morning crew chimed in together:

“Hello, Mr. Daniels.”

And Kimberly, as always, asked,

“How are you this morning?”

Kimberly was one of the managers and the supervisor of the daytime crew. She had long locs and a beautiful smile—one that included both her eyes and her mouth and illuminated her rich, dark skin. Mr. Daniels often reminded her that she was beautiful and that she had the loveliest smile.

“In life,” he would say, “a smile from the heart and a joyful laugh are just as potent as medicine.”

Kimberly loved when Mr. Daniels shared his wisdom or stories from his younger days—sometimes about life, sometimes about the war. He was a sweet old man, kind and gentle, who looked fragile and poor. She would often tell the baristas to give him his change back, but he always refused. He would not take his drink if they didn’t accept his payment.

Every time he visited the café, he sat at the same table. He wore the same old brown jacket with patches, the same brown slacks, and the same white shirt. His black shoes were worn and cracked—just as weary as his jacket. And he always ordered the same coffee: almond milk, no sugar.

Most of the daytime crew thought he might be homeless because of his worn clothing and how he stayed for hours, sometimes until the crew clocked out.

Gregory—the one who kept everyone laughing—would always joke,

“That man ain’t homeless. He probably got a one-bedroom with a closet full of money. He’s rich, how much you want to bet?”